


Whatever You Want

by CatherineKat



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: F/F, Mentions of Violence, Nancy Birch deserves more and this is the hill I will die on, Prostitution, Unrequited Love, well not completely requited at any rate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25992040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatherineKat/pseuds/CatherineKat
Summary: It's not the first time Nancy's found Margaret Wells in her bed, but it is the first time she's not known what to do about it.
Relationships: Nancy Birch/Margaret Wells, mention of Margaret Wells/William North
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	Whatever You Want

When she walks into the kitchen that evening, shaking the grime off her boots, Frances jerks her head to the doorway. 

“Mrs Wells is here to see you,” she says, somewhat unnecessarily, as Mags’ deep green cloak is hung on what Nancy considers her hook. She’s sure she only does it to annoy, Mags knows that Nancy likes everything in its place. 

Nancy grunts and bypasses Frances’ cull, who is sitting at the table with a slightly stunned look on his already unfortunate face. It’s hard to tell if his surprise is a result of Nancy’s attire or whatever Frances is doing with the hand that isn’t reaching for the gin bottle. 

“What’s up with you, then?” she asks as she strides into her room, taking her hat off as she walks. She stops abruptly. Mags is sitting on Nancy’s bed which isn’t at all unusual, there were years where they shared one, but beside her is her blouse, she’s bent double unlacing her stays and has the look of a woman who has recently been crying, hard. In most people, this would be deeply unattractive, but because the world is against Nancy, tears turn Mags’ eyes into deep dark pools. They got her out of more than one punishment at Quigley’s and have got the both of them into trouble more times than Nancy can remember. It’s very hard to resist whatever mad plan she’s come up with when she looks at one with those huge, trusting eyes and asks, as though she hasn’t a hope of a positive answer. Nancy still has the scar from a particularly memorable incident involving three flights of stairs and six glasses of gin.

“I’ve told you before, stop lacing yourself so bloody tight; it drains all the blood out of your head and makes you act madder than you already do.” She’s trying very hard to be calm and reasonable because once in a while she’s allowed herself to think about this and now it’s happened she’s not sure what to do. What she wants to do.

“I think I’ve made a mistake.”

“You’re right, this isn’t your bedroom. Yours is out the front door, turn left -”

“Nance.” Mags looks up and reaches out for her and Nancy goes because she’s never been able not to, not if Margaret Wells wants her. She perches on the edge of the mattress, somewhat gingerly, given it’s her own bed, and puts a hand on Mags’ warm, bare shoulder.

“What have you done this time then, you daft cow?”

“I didn’t make him pay.” Nancy furrows her brow. She doesn’t think she’s being an idiot, but it has been a long old day.

“That’s not news, Mags. You’ve never made Will pay.”

“I know. Why not?”

“I don’t know, do I? God knows there were nights when we needed the coin. What’s this all about?”

Margaret leans back against Nancy’s pillow and Nancy would consider it cheek coming from anyone else, but looking at her friend's face (and she’ll admit, a little bit at her chest, which is trying hard to escape from its confines) she stays silent on the matter. Instead, she tilts her head sideways, encouraging Mags to explain.

“He said he loves me. Said he’ll help me run the house, raise the girls, stick by me.” Nancy wishes it didn’t hurt so much that that’s still what Mags is looking for, as though Nancy hasn’t entertained Charlotte, rocked Lucy, and cooked dinner while Mags services a cull more nights than either of them could count.

“And somehow, instead of being naked in his bed, you’re half dressed in mine.” It’s somewhere between a joke and a question and Nancy isn’t sure if she needs to hear the answer.

Margaret wrinkles her nose. It’s the same face she pulled at fourteen, thinking about kissing the boy who’d brought Mrs Quigley a note and weighing up the potential beating with the promise of a moment’s pleasure. She leans forward, one breast falling completely free from her bodice, which Nancy tries very hard to avert her eyes from. She laughs, somewhat bitterly, making it bounce, which causes Nancy’s heart to stutter slightly.

“I want you to look, Nance. I want you to touch, I want you to kiss me, to do whatever you want to me.” A thousand thoughts flash through Nancy’s mind in an instant. Maggie laughing in her bed at Quigley’s, naked as the day she was born and doing her best to get Nancy that way too, Mags pinning her to a damp stone wall under a bridge, the only person Nancy would ever let be in charge that way. Her fingers had been cold on her stomach, making her nipples tighten into little points and her breath catch. Maggie, half awake and curled behind her on the floor, the first night after they left, Charlotte giggling to herself as they tried to take in their escape. Nancy’s eyes close. Margaret leaning against William North, both her girls at her side, smiling like she’d only smiled for Nancy before. Safe and happy. 

As much as she tries, that’s the thought she can’t escape. Nancy opens her eyes and sighs. She doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want to be the downfall of Mags’ newfound happiness, doesn’t want to let her pull down the safety she’s built. Doesn’t want to see the pain in Will’s stupid, thrice-damned, upstanding, kindly face, goddammit. However much the ache in her chest and answering one between her legs tells her otherwise. 

“Go home, Maggie Mud-Pie. That’s what I want.” She kisses her once, oh so briefly, feels Mags sag with relief or disappointment. She can’t tell which and doesn’t much care to know, she promises herself as she walks swiftly out of the room.

As soon as she’s out of Mags’ line of sight, she leans against the dresser and swears, quietly and furiously. Frances’ cull chooses that moment to finish, loudly, and Nancy can’t help but snigger. She hears Mags in the other room, her ever recognisable snort giggle bursting out at the exact same second. At least they can still laugh.


End file.
